


Sartorially Speaking

by Anetka



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Garashir - Freeform, M/M, Mild Innuendo, Pre-Slash, i have no idea when this takes place, mention of minor injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-26 17:19:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13862316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anetka/pseuds/Anetka
Summary: It was no secret that Garak was not a fan of Starfleet uniforms.





	Sartorially Speaking

It was no secret that Garak was not a fan of Starfleet uniforms.

He could admit that they were practical, for the largely humanoid-occupied organization. One glance at the garish colors would alert one to the wearer's area of expertise. It was all very simplified, stripped down to make pertinent information about any individual immediately apparent across the multicultural organization.

The newest iteration was a marked improvement over the uniforms that were slowly being cycled out of commission. More structured, and inverting the color pattern of the previous model, the current uniform provided a strong outline of the shoulder, which Garak found to be lacking in most humans.

Most of the Starfleet officers aboard the space station filled the uniforms out well enough, though nowhere near the fit he could achieve in his tailoring shop. Statuesque Jadzia could almost fool one into thinking the outfit attractive, until one saw the woman in a properly tailored suit. Even the Chief Engineer-a man Garak viewed as less defined than his fellows, more soft around the edges-looked _solid_ in his uniform.

Overall, Garak could admit that whoever had designed these new uniforms had done an adequate job of making the humans wearing them seem less vulnerable than he knew them to be. Truly, everyone except-

"Ah, my dear Doctor! I do hope you are here to take me up on my offer. I've just received a shipment of fabrics that I'm sure won't disappoint."

Garak unfurled a length from one of the bolts he had been contemplating. It was a rich, sturdy material in a tone that he was confident would complement the Doctor's own coloring while flattering his build.

Wide shoulders tapered to slim hips, making the cloth covering his torso appear almost concave. The one-size-fits-all structuring of the uniform left _everything_ to the imagination. That is, until the man moved.

The stretch and pull of that awful fabric at every step, turn, or bend of the frenetic young man offered a glimpse, a teasing hint, of lithe muscle or curve of delicate spine.

"I came here to check on you, as you well know." The young man wore an unusually serious expression, arms crossed in what Garak had come to recognize as a human gesture of disapproval. The gesture obscured any hint of figure through his torso, reminding Garak that it was not time to fixate on the younger man's form. It barely lasted a moment before the young man was leaning forward, bracing his forearms on the counter. "Another fight?"

Garak scoffed, focusing on his work surface.

"I would hardly call it that. A minor misunderstanding, at worst."

"That turned into an altercation and resulted in several-albeit minor-contusions." The Doctor sighed. "All of which were dealt to you, of course."

"You sound disappointed," Garak said lightly, smoothing the fabric flat. He had never used this particular fabric before but was pleased to find it pleasant to the touch while also possessing a sturdiness that would lend itself to structure.

Another, smoother hand fiddled with the edge of the fabric, tugging it taut.

"Only that you didn't come to me to have them healed." The Doctor ducked down, attempting to catch Garak's eye. "Damn it, Garak, will you look at me! Do you secretly enjoy being in pain?" the Doctor asked, exasperation evident in his voice.

Garak straightened, fabric all but forgotten between them.

"I'm afraid in my line of work pain loses any...stimulating appeal it may once have held," Garak replied smoothly, noting with delight the embarrassed flush that was creeping up the Doctor's neck. He carried on nonchalantly; "Jabbed myself with a sewing needle one too many times, you see."

There was a moment of silence before the doctor let out a startled bark of laughter.

"Remind me to replicate a thimble for you." Julian picked up the dermal regenerator. "Stay still."

"I didn't know you did housecalls, Doctor," Garak said conversationally.

"I usually don't," Julian admitted. "But if you won't come to me I'll just have to hunt you down." He finished, powering down the tool.

"I assure you, Doctor, I am an easy enough man to find," Garak smiled, gesturing around them at his shop. "Though I can hardly let you go out of your way like this on my account." Garak finally, _finally_ , let his gaze sweep up and down the younger man's form.

Before the doctor could respond, Garak continued.

"I'm sure we could reach an arrangement. A trade of services, if you will. As you've pointed out, I've found myself in need of medical attention rather more frequently of late. And as we both know, my dear Doctor, you are in desperate need of an updated wardrobe."

"As you take every opportunity to inform me."

Garak's only response was a placid smile.

If anything, from that day on Garak found himself even less inclined to make use of the infirmary.


End file.
